A Place in the Dirt
by IntimatelyYours
Summary: Debra pounded against the coffin lid; thick ropes burning scars into her wrists. She tried to stay alert, forcing her eyelids open and staring blindly into the darkness. Her own screams rang through the confined space as memories flooded her mind, seeping poison into her waking nightmare.


Her body twisted in the confined space, straining and heaving with every sharp breath.

Debra pounded against the coffin lid with her tightly bound hands until her knuckles bled and the rope burned into her wrists.

She forced back memories. Those horrible, dark thoughts that were seared into her mind fifteen years ago.

She screamed once more. It came out as a short, dry wail.

Her eyes were shut tight, yet she could almost feel the invisible insects rub along the inside of her skull.

_Don't think about it. _She chanted in silence. _You're not in his cult anymore._

She wanted so desperately to forget the past. To force it all back into the black abyss which she called her childhood.

_Don't do it, Debra. Don't you fucking go there._

And then it all came tumbling back.

**Church Rock, Iowa, 1989**

"You've been a bad little girl, haven't you?" Dale paced back and forth across the stage. The eyes of his loyal followers looked upon him with awe, as if they were seeing the face of God himself.

A fourteen year old Debra Parker sat quietly on a wood stool before him, clad in a frilly white gown with her long brown locks pulled back in a tight French braid.

The corners of Dale's chapped lips rose into a wicked grin. "Why don't you tell the congregation what you've done?"

Debra swallowed. "I, um…I."

"Say it."

"I took some…some food. From the pantry." She knew that if she attempted to escape, she'd need at least three day's worth of food to make it through the 50 acre forest surrounding the compound.

"We are all fasting this week." Dale took a step closer to Debra. She shrunk back in fear, as if bracing herself for an impending attack. "Or so I thought."

Dale slapped her hard across her face. His hand was as cold and rigid as a whip.

The Leader, ever so kind and loving, grabbed her braid and hauled her onto her feet.

She didn't cry. She'd save her tears for later, as always.

The Leader's expression dropped, his face becoming an unreadable stoic mass.

"What is the punishment for stealing?" He drawled.

Debra swallowed hard. "The Confession Box."

"I will make you into a believer." A small smile formed. He pulled down on her braid, and the little girl fell to her knees. She turned her head and looked out into the audience, and spotted her mother and father sitting in the front row, eyes glazed over with a mix of adoration for The Leader and disappointment for their daughter.

Their bad, disobedient child.

A strange light flashed from deep within the eyes of Dale. He spoke the words truly worth of a twisted God; "I am a kind and just messiah. You will receive three days in The Box, one for every item you stole."

"No!" Debra wailed, as Dale began to drag her by her hair across the cold hardwood of the stage towards a strange, metallic cross which protruded from the floor as if it were a grave marker. He dragged the cross towards the left, exposing a trapdoor nestled neatly into the floor with a small latch in the center.

Dale bent down, tugging on the latch and opening the door into the hole which was half the length and size of a standard walk-in closet.

He lifted Debra up by her waist, and lowered her into the hole. She kicked and screamed, her voice echoing through the church hall.

The smooth walls of the little cell were warm to the touch. The slice of purgatory was heated by metal coils running through the concrete, allowing Dale to alter the temperature to whatever he saw fit.

He was God, after all. And God always had control.

"_Stop. Please, stop. I promise I'll be good! I promise!"_ Debra curled her thin frame into a ball, tucking her knees to her chest. Calling for mom and dad would be of no use, and her sister was away at Sunday classes in the adjoining hall.

"This is your fault. You decided to steal, and now you have to pay the consequences." Dale slammed the trapdoor shut, sealing Debra in her own little private hell.

She bawled, her own voice ringing through her ears. The darkness ate every whimper.

She ran her fingers along the wall, groping at the concrete with a silent hope to find a small tool or a pair of hidden scissors to help her break free of the prison. Her heart skipped, as she felt three small, partly sticky grooves along the floor.

Debra's eyes widened when she came to a realization that it wasn't an object.

They were fingernail marks.

She dry heaved, as the temperature of the cell began to increase. Death, she told herself, would be waiting. Perhaps not then, but sometime.

Death would be her only friend who would be there for her until the very end.

**Present Day**

The voices of Mike and Ryan floated by, as Debra's mind leapt in between the bounds of consciousness.

She knew it would happen. It was all too predictable. Funny, almost. The strange irony of it all.

_I'm gonna die._ She felt her lungs begin to spasm, and a white sheet of blindness creep up behind her corneas. _Damn._

A tingling wave overtook her body, and she felt her head thrust back and her feet lift.

She opened her eyes. Strange. She didn't remember closing them.

Looking around her, she saw an expanse of rolling green hills and a pastel sky, full and brimming with every colour fathomable. The glowing orange sun set low on the horizon, as outlines of numerous planets floated above.

"It's alright, Agent Parker." She turned to greet a tall, muscular man.

She recognized him as Troy Riley, her friend and fellow agent from The Bureau who died on duty, brutally stabbed by one of Joe's groupies.

"Yeah. We're all family here. Real family!" A tall, lithe blonde woman bounced on her toes, her red dress floating loosely around her.

It was Jessica the college student. One of Joe's first victims.

"Family?" Debra said. Everything was suddenly clear and blaringly obvious. Her sadness was dissipated, and every memory seemed distant and long past. The smell of earth and dirt was replaced by the light aroma of lavender. Her favorite.

"Yes. We are." A woman dressed in blue scrubs and running shoes approached. She was also blonde and beautiful, radiating a happy glow. It was Dr. Sarah Fuller. The victim who almost got away.

"Welcome home." They said in unison.

And for the first time in a long time, the heroine smiled genuinely.

_I'm finally home._

* * *

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